The Seven Deadly Sins
by the unfolding
Summary: Nobody is perfect.
1. Sloth

Sloth (Latin, _acedia_)- noun- habitual disinclination to exertion; indolence; laziness.

Not many people would believe that before Dunder Mifflin, Jim Halpert wasn't really one for pranks. He enjoyed a laugh every now and then, yeah, and he'd taken part in his fair share of stupid shit in college, but you could blame most of that on the booze. As a general rule, though, Jim enjoyed cracking jokes more than he did the extensive planning that goes into a good prank. He had appreciation for the greats, but he was more of a watcher than a doer.

That was before Dunder Mifflin.

Jim liked to think of his pranks as less of a waste of company time and more of a way to stay sane when you have Dwight K. Schrute for a deskmate. It was a way a combat the deathly boredom that was his job as a salesman at a failing mid-range paper company in a geographically insignificant town. It was his coping mechanism. Sometimes people chalked that up to some character trait, defiance or laziness or whatever, and Jim totally agreed. And everyone knows that Jim Halpert only does that under three conditions- because it irritates Dwight, because Pam said it, or because there's something more he's not ready to admit. When Jim really thinks about the motivation behind his laziness at work, it all comes down to one thing.

Her laugh.

He thinks it's surprising (and a lack of basic self-preservation) that he'd risk his job stability for something like that, but there it is. Every prank he's ever come up with has been designed with the ultimate goal in mind to make Pam Beesley laugh. He knows how much she loves the feel that she's rebelling against something (he wishes it could be her fiancé, and maybe this is a dream deferred) and so he includes her in the planning whenever possible. They dream and scheme and he knows he's just buying time, but he'll pay whatever is necessary to get it, and then they execute this master work they've made together. And she laughs the way he loves, the laugh he's never heard from her around Roy, the one where she throws her head back and her whole face just shines and she's so damn beautiful he can hardly even stand it. It's like the best and worst thing to ever happen to him, because he loves her and he wants her to be happy and at the same time he loves her and he wants her to love him too, and when she laughs he's convinced she does. It plants that renegade seed of hope in him that drives him to a confession in some dark parking lot (and it reminds him of the confessions he used to make as a kid at church, but she's no priest and he's not sorry) and she's not laughing and neither is he.

He moves to Stanford and his first (and only) prank falls flat, because who knew Andy had such anger management issues? And in his heart he knows it's no good because she's not there- there's no motivation for him other than precedence- and so he decides that if this is really going to be his job, he better get serious about it. And he's still a salesman at a failing mid-range paper company, but the town is a little closer to being geographically significant and he needs to convince himself he's got something going for him. And then there's Karen, who's smart and beautiful and ambitious, and he thinks that maybe if he borrows that ambition for a little bit he can pull himself together and be someone other than Jim Halpert, Master of Pranks and Jello Encasing.

Then all of a sudden he's back at Scranton, and Pam greets him at the door and she's a million times more beautiful than he's been trying not to remember but has been dreaming about anyway. She's looking at him like she's expecting something and he knows that if he hears her laugh, this entire attempt at recovery will be lost to the sound of it, so he makes no jokes all day besides the quiet ones to Karen (who laughs, but it's not the same and he thinks it might be a formality) and he's secretly grateful that Ryan won't give him his desk back because then at least he won't be able to see her disappointment.

But after a few days that feel more like years, they pull their first prank together since his return. He hears Pam Beesley laugh, and Jim Halpert knows he is hopelessly undone.


	2. Envy

Envy (Latin, _invidia_)- noun- a feeling of discontent or covetousness with regard to another's advantages, success, possessions, etc.

Pam had never been called sexy.

It's that kind of thing she thought every woman experiences at least once- a guy who likes her for her body if not for anything else - but it never happened to Pam. By the time she was old enough to really be sexy she was with Roy, and then there was no one but him to tell her she was attractive or beautiful or maybe just a decent person (because when he's not saying any of those things she'll take what she can get) but none of that ever happened. And so Pam came to the conclusion that if no one called her sexy, it must be because she wasn't. She didn't fit any of the criteria, didn't have the tan or the legs or the boobs or the lean figure- which is exactly why she got into mixed berry yogurt in the first place, because if she's being honest, it doesn't really taste that great- but all of her yogurt went to shit the second Karen Fillipeli walked through the doors of Dunder Mifflin.

Pam had spent the better part of the last two weeks analyzing every aspect of Jim's return to Scranton. What should she say? How should she greet him? Would it be an appropriate reaction for her to leap into his arms and tell him that she's loved him far longer than she ever let herself believe, and now she wants to start over and make things right? (that one was more fantasy than reality, but only by a small percentage). She dragged out a blouse and skirt Kelly had practically forced her to buy after Jim left, looking for some sort of cotton confidence that would make her ready for this- this epic, unchangeable second-first-impression thing that she felt so completely unprepared for. But that day came, so much faster and so much slower than Pam thought possible, and she did her hair and put on her heels (her Keds sat forlorn in the closet, partially because they didn't go with the skirt and partially because they reminded her of the times before this regeneration of her and Jim) and Pam thought to herself that maybe she looked a little bit pretty and maybe that would be enough to bring him home in the ways she'd longed for. And when the door opened and Jim walked through the door- Jim Halpert, the man who had told her he loved her and had kissed her in this very room and had touched every single piece of her soul until she came crumbling down- she forget every ounce of decorum she'd promised herself she would have and she just _ran to him_.

She had imagined this moment so many times. It would be like the movies, where Jim would wrap his arms around her and maybe pick her up a little so he could press a kiss to the top of her head, and she would look up and him and just like that he would know the things she'd dreamed for them. He would know she loved him. Except imaginings are just imaginings, and so the hug felt less like an embrace between two people who need each other and more like a fucking train wreck, all awkwardness and one-sidedness and disappointment. And Pam couldn't figure out for the life of her just where they had gone so terribly wrong (because really, she had seen that late-night phone conversation as a sort of healing), but then Jim went to sit down and he glanced over at the petite brunette in the pantsuit and all of a sudden she had a horrible, sickening sense of exactly what was going on.

Karen was beautiful; Pam had noticed that right away. Not just in that subtle, "she's so pretty" kind of beautiful that women see in their best friends or old couples notice about the darling girl next door who helped them rescue the cat once. She was beautiful in the magazine way, all exoticness and curves and confidence. In a little selfish part of her heart, Pam had always liked being the good-looking woman in the office, because if she's going to work in a shit job with a shit fiancé she should at least get the dignity of being admired for something, even if it isn't the thing that counts. But now there's Karen, and she can tell from the gazes of all the men in the room that her status as the pretty receptionist has taken a backseat to the sexy saleswoman, and Jim is messing with Karen in a totally friendly way, except for they aren't totally friends and Pam is totally aware of it.

In the weeks following that failed invitation for coffee, Pam would like to say that she wasn't following the age-old mantra of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer. She would rather talk about how good of friends she and Karen became- alliances in a crazy, fucked up work environment- and how when she had to make the choice between sabotaging Karen and Jim's relationship and being a friend to both of them she chose the latter. But Pam has always been betrayed by her art, and so where the first section of her sketchbook is filled with images of a tall man reaching out to a curly-haired woman, the second has the woman alone and the man with someone new. It's never quite clear, but the new girl looks vaguely Italian.


	3. Wrath

Wrath (Latin, ira)- noun- Forceful, often vindictive anger

Wrath (Latin, _ira_)- noun- forceful, often vindictive anger.

The move to Stamford is easier than he thought it would be. It's almost a relief to not see her, because he knows that even though her absence leaves an ache inside of him, her presence rips him open, and he'll take the least painful option. But he still hurts. He still lies awake in early hours of the morning, flat on his back, slick with sweat and stained with tears and he's haunted. Jim Halpert is a haunted man, and he's losing weight and he feels like his skin is falling off his bones, he feels like he's decaying and there has to be some way to cope with the monsters in his head and the "I can't"s etched into his brain.

After his first few weeks in Stamford, Jim discovers through a process of trial-and-error that with enough booze he can almost mistake his heartbreak for anger, and it's so much easier that way that he embraces it. Because the thing is that a part of Jim hates Pam; he hates her for what she did to him and the pieces of him she held and destroyed, he hates her for lying to him and for lying to herself. He hates her for fucking up the best thing to ever happen to him, he hates her for his own "misinterpretation" and he hates her for making him love her anyway. And hate is so much easier to swallow than love, it goes down so much quicker- just a little taste of bitterness, just a little guilt- and it's gone, replaced by rage and blindness and blessed numbness.

When Karen asks him if she should transfer to Scranton, the choice is easy. Because Karen is smart and funny and in control, she tells him what she wants and he gives it to her, an easy exchange with no guesswork, no possibility of misinterpretation. Karen puts it all on the table, and Jim loves her for that. He needs her for that- because if Jim goes back alone, there will be no resistance. He won't be able to take it, because even talking with her on the phone made him feel like the last six months had never happened, like she had never shot all his hopes to Hell, like she had never told him she wasn't in love. He knows he'll fall apart, and he thinks maybe it's a testament to how well he knows his own weaknesses that he sleeps with Karen for the first time when she decides to come with him. Afterwards, she goes to take a shower instead of staying in bed, and he thinks it's so much better that way. It's so much easier when nobody's in love.

The morning Jim steps over the threshold of Dunder Mifflin Scranton branch, he feels like he's walking straight back into his past. Michael says something inane but Jim sees his childish excitement, and he's almost glad to be back for just a split second and then he hardly has time to think before Pam is throwing herself into his arms, and it's like an infinitely better version of six months ago because he looks and her and he can tell she really tried today, sees her hair and her outfit and how beautiful she is and her smile and for one moment, Jim is almost lost to Pam forever. But then Ryan is at his desk and he sees Karen out of the corner of his eye, and he remembers how it ended last time. He remembers how the beautiful receptionist destroyed the eager salesman. He remembers Stamford and pain. He remembers that desk and her lips and that silent rejection, and then he reminds himself of Karen- Karen, who is here with him, who is committed, who is open with her feelings, who is unafraid. And just like that the anger is back, white-hot and raging. It's easier this way.

Jim almost feels something a little like satisfaction when he turns down Pam's invitation for coffee. He almost enjoys himself, making quiet jokes with Karen and being mature and not having to impress someone who used to be fucking engaged, not like she bothered to act like it. Deep down, Jim Halpert knows this isn't like him- knows this isn't him at all- but it doesn't hurt like it used to. So he takes Karen back to his place and he makes love to her, and then he half-listens to her bitch about her new coworkers- he's used to Karen's bitching- and the little part of him that tells him this isn't right is overwhelmed by the part that says it isn't wrong. It doesn't hurt.

He'll take what he can get.


End file.
